


pagans

by Sara Generis (kanadka)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blasphemy, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Inexperience, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/pseuds/Sara%20Generis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Estonia is too young for this, and Lithuania is old enough to know better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pagans

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this a few years ago. Don't think it's really my style anymore but that's what I get for procrastinating on ao3 uploads!
> 
> Though it's not meant to be issue fic, this is meant to be at least 50% uncomfortable feeling inducing. I don't say how old either character is but it's after Mindaugas is crowned and before the Teutonic Knights purchase Estonia. So maybe 1250ish. Anyway the historical context is telling so you can make your own minds up. I also could not find solid information about homosexuality in pre-Christian Lithuania, so I went with 'tolerated if kept out of sight and never discussed'.

Lithuania is young when he does it, young enough not to have formed decent tolerance to alcohol, and still too young to exhibit good judgment especially when intoxicated, but he’s older than Estonia. Older, and more experienced, with the firm set of the jaw that says trust me, I know what I’m doing, even though he really doesn’t, not quite.

Estonia trusts him not for this reason, but because Lithuania murmurs into his ears, three sheets to the wind on mead, exciting promises that he’ll show Estonia things that grownups get to do, things that people who are much bigger and brawnier than even Lithuania (who, to Estonia, seems very cocksure and confident, and it’s tough to imagine anybody more self-assured) will not ask for before taking.

When you’re bigger you’ll understand, Lithuania says, pawing gracelessly at the front of his drawstring pants, loosening the ties and slipping his hand in. You’ll thank me for this later. It could have been so much worse, you see, it could have been about power and anger and hate and making a statement.

It’s because Estonia is told of how older and bigger people do this that it makes him want to do it too. It makes him want to prove himself to Lithuania, whom he looks up to so badly with desperate admiration. He wants to be mature and big and brave just like Lithuania instead of an amalgamation of mostly-divisive villages bearing little cohesion, playing ungrateful host to Danish usurpers.

Lithuania warns again, though, that the rest of them, the older ones, they do this in a different way, they take without asking and they are rough and imprudent and uncareful and it hurts. Lithuania promises not to hurt him. Because Lithuania won’t hurt him, that’s why he says Estonia should let him do this. And only him.

Instead, when Lithuania curls his hand around Estonia, around a part of him that he knows the Knights - Livonian and Teutonic - really wish they wouldn’t talk about (though Lithuania always laughs loud and long whenever he hears about that - what need has he of Livonia’s silly god! Perkunas doesn’t care how much he enjoys cock) it’s about protection. About love, and duty, and honour, and keeping pure.

Don't tell Denmark, adds Lithuania.

There is a purity in this, he thinks, as Lithuania prepares him. But it’s not the same kind that Livonia talks about. It feels strange, it feels uncomfortable, and Estonia doesn’t know what to do but Lithuania takes leadership proudly, props Estonia up against pillows and lifts his shirt up past his waist. Lithuania tugs his pants off and gently coaxes his legs apart so that he can lie between them. And it hurts briefly because Lithuania was hasty and impatient and did not take as much care as he could have.

But he took more care than others would, he says, others who have points to prove, and so Estonia’s first is not about pillaging but about closeness, intimacy and pleasure.

Eventually, even his.

There is a fire Lithuania stokes, perhaps unknowingly, perhaps with direct specific intent, because his green eyes light up and are shiny bright with anticipation at Estonia’s sighs, then gasps and moans.

Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. Perfectly natural and unashamed. Estonia lets his head fall back on pillows when the effort of keeping it up becomes too great and Lithuania rewards the guiltless, innocent abandon with a spate of kisses, peppered across his exposed throat.

Lithuania moves inside him and thrusts in, a bit at first, then a bit further. For a sacred moment they are closer than they’ve ever been, closer than Estonia ever imagined being with another. He can feel Lithuania inside him, pulsating and warm, alive and real. It is shockingly intimate. He draws his legs up and curls them around Lithuania’s waist to keep Lithuania near. His ankles barely cross, he is still short. And Lithuania goes deeper still and it does feel good, Lithuania was right.

Lithuania removes himself and Estonia, feeling momentarily bereft and robbed, sulks. Above him, Lithuania grins impishly and teases him about being ready, and while Estonia babbles over-confident assurances (terrified that Lithuania will realise how young he really is and leave him like this) Lithuania distracts him by pushing in fully, steals his breath with the sensation and then thieves it again with a kiss.

Estonia readily gives in to the heady rush of it, the fire that it kindles inside him. He is inordinately pleased at Lithuania’s incredible proximity and warmth, outmatched only by the heat from Lithuania’s mouth on his, sloppy adolescent kisses, tinged with the taste of mead. Drunk as Lithuania is, it was a good idea on his part, Estonia thinks, and agrees. This was a good idea.

Lithuania’s hips drive into his in a rhythm driven mad, his long brown hair lank around his face and damp with exertion. Every movement reaches him deep, deeper than he had thought possible to be and like that, cyclically, they are closer than neighbours or friends or cousins or brothers - they are all and none of these. Lovers is the term, he knows - is this love, Estonia wonders? (Later, Lithuania will leave in the morning for another battle, having claimed a good luck charm the night before, but still Estonia will agree, maybe only to convince himself, there isn’t anybody who would have done it to him like that. Not like that.)

He feels like he almost glimpses the God that Denmark likes to talk about at one point, when his nerves are aflame and his vision fails him and he cries out in passion and then sprawls back on the pillows, messy and spent, helpless and lost in sensation and utterly out of control.

But Lithuania laughs him cheerfully back to earth, mouthing his neck, and explains there’s nothing unnaturally holy about that. It is a union, it is a pact. It is sacred, but not, Lithuania is careful to mention, not like God. A gift from _the_ gods - Lithuania stresses their plurality.

He offers to bring him back there sometime to show him, as many times as they need to, to convince Estonia against what Denmark and the Teutonic Knights and Livonian Brothers all claim - they decry its wrongness and impurity and filth. 

Lithuania whispers, how could this possibly be filth, and tongues his jawline. Passively, Estonia lets him.

Let this be your ruler, Lithuania advises, stroking the side of his small chest, massaging his waist as he cants his hips forward and rocks himself again into Estonia, who is so sensitive that the shocking action is nearly painful. Let this be your religion.

And pray with me now, he gasps, as Estonia arches into his touch.


End file.
